Jungle of Deceit by Maureen A. Miller Page B

stopped on an image of Alex. She stood alone by her Jeep, a map stretched across the hood. One hand was holding her back as she bent over the unfurled paper. Her profile was a clash of conviction and doubt. With a narrow chin set in determination, her eyes were closed in contemplation or fatigue.
    Mitch smiled at the representation, but his mirth faded when he stared up at the blockade. Alex was inside there and he had no idea if she was safe. When last he saw her, she was struggling to save the world. For one moment she was in his arms. It was a mutual show of support, but it had staggered him that it had felt so good. In his embrace she had looked up at him and revealed her vulnerability. It was a disclosure that pained him.
    A woman with vulnerable eyes had changed his career. A woman with vulnerable eyes haunted his dreams.
    ***
    Night fell. The air was unusually arid, tinged with ash. A chorus started up−a buzzing orchestration of frogs, birds and insects consuming the whisper of the ceibas above.
    Night sounds.
    Another noise invaded the eerie realm−the hum of a motor. Headlights pierced the dark with a strobe-like effect well before the vehicle came into view. It was a patrol from the compound. A figure stood aloft, one hand gripping the Jeep frame, the other clutching an AK-47. The driver inched the vehicle forward as the guard flashed a searchlight into the forest. Mitch withdrew behind a tree, scanning the ground in the limited light. He dragged his hand across the dirt, praying his fingers didn’t connect with anything reptilian, and was grateful when they closed around a broken tree limb. It wasn’t as heavy as he would have preferred, but it would have to do.
    Mitch waited for the scope of the searchlight to swing by and then pitched the stick in the air twenty yards away. The Jeep came to a halt and a hushed exchange could be heard now that the crickets had temporarily stopped their bickering. The man with the AK-47 climbed down from his perch, his boots landing on the ground with a thump. He stood at the rim of the jungle and gestured to his partner to shine the light into the trees. The beam swung in Mitch’s direction, but he was well secluded. He hefted another branch deeper into the jungle. It was a gamble. The commando could disregard the disruption as simply a night crawler and return to his Jeep, or he would be tempted to walk further into the forest. Mitch was hoping for the latter.
    After a moment’s hesitation, the guard craned his neck, following the beam as it wove through the brush. He took his first step into the dark veil.
    Come on , Mitch urged. A few more feet .
    On cue, the man continued forward with his weapon extended. Mitch moved fast, swinging his camera by its strap in successive arcs over his head. The impetus from the snap of his wrist hurled a 3-pound projectile of battery and plastic at the militant’s head. The man dropped to the ground half a second later, and as soon as he fell, Mitch scooped up the AK-47.
    Three days ago the Hudson had claimed $6000 worth of Mitch’s photography equipment. With this stunt the tally was up over ten grand.
    There was little time to dwell on the loss, though. As anticipated, the disturbance caught the driver’s attention, and Mitch crouched and waited for the cohort to emerge from the Jeep.
    “ Viator?” the man whispered. “ Viator! ”
    When there was no response he flipped on a flashlight, pointing it into the forest. It was as effective as spraying an aircraft carrier with a lawn hose. The beam managed a short track of light and then withered into obscurity. The man used that minimal aid to make his way into the black belly of the jungle. As the ray dusted across the toe of his boot, Mitch held his breath. His finger caressed the trigger of the procured weapon, but he doubted he could figure out how to fire it in time.
    “ Viator?” The call came again with more urgency.
    Mitch’s exposed toe was disregarded and he thought that